The Way Things Are
by KroganVanguard
Summary: The delicate balancing act that is their relationship, after Castle comes back to work at the precinct after his summer away. An one-shot post-ep for 'Murder Most Fowl' (3x08).


"Castle? What are you doing here?"

He shrugs, placing the cup of coffee down in front of her. There's no case, and she didn't call him in, but he felt like coming anyway.

"Got bored. Figured I'd drop by, see if there was anything interesting happening."

"Shouldn't you be writing?"

"Can't rush genius, Beckett."

He smirks, knowing exactly what her response to that will be. Right on cue, she smiles and rolls her eyes all at once, grasping the hot cup in both hands and taking a large sip. The smirk transforms into a genuine smile as her features relax, the hit of sugary-sweet vanilla and caffeine just what she'd needed- he'd known.

"What happened yesterday? You ran out of here like a…rat out of hell."

She teases, poking her tongue between her teeth.

He professes not to notice.

"Oh, rat puns. I thought you might be above all that cheesiness."

"Very funny."

"Anyway, Alexis was really distraught she'd lost him, and apologised profusely to Ashley, who in turn forgave her."

"Ahh, young love."

She smiles indulgently, like she has first-hand knowledge of her own from that period in her life. He supposes everyone does, but he wants to know. He always wants to know, when it comes to her.

"Indeed. Fortunately, the rat turned up inside mother's room moments later anyway. She was very upset and has taken herself off to The Plaza for the rest of the week, which makes me like the rat a hell of a lot more than I used to."

"Every cloud indeed…"

They trail off into silence, each sipping their coffees, relaxing into the easy silence of their friendship, the bustle of the station the soundtrack to their little break.

"So what happened after I left with Tyler and his parents?"

"Nothing much. Still some animosity between the mother and the father, but the stepdad played conciliator. Tyler is going to spend some extra time with his dad in the city. We took all the statements we needed for the moment, and referred them to a counsellor, especially Tyler."

"Good. Poor kid, spending most of the day with a gun to his head."

"Yeah. We'd like to get a fuller statement from him, but only once the counsellor gives their OK for it. Don't want to make him relive the trauma any more than we need to."

Her eyes have darkened to a dappled brown, troubled and heavy. He knows she feels heavily for each and every victim and their family that she comes into contact with. Even though she'd saved the day and saved Tyler's life, the impact on that young boy's life will stay with her. That's why she'd reached out to him after rescuing him, made sure that she was by his side the whole time, that she'd kept him safe and made him feel safe. Twined her fingers through Tyler's when he'd reached for her hand and hadn't let go till he was back with his father.

She'll make an excellent mother someday, he knew. Maternal and loving, yet disciplined. Her children would never want for love, and yet always know exactly which limits to push and which not to. In a way it was a shame her mother's death had made her so closed off, so unready to pursue that path with anyone.

He reaches forward, brushing the back of her hand with a thumb, making her look up at him.

"Hey, you did good. He'll be OK. He'll fight. You're his hero…maybe he'll become a cop."

"Or a mystery writer."

The darkness fades from her eyes, as they lighten to forest green again. He leans back in his chair, satisfied with the job, with the fact he's pulled her out of her mini-spiral.

"Good for him if he does. I hear women love mystery writers."

"Yeah you could say that…"

She grins at him, lightening even further, a teasing tone to her voice.

"…I do love Patterson's work."

"Low blow, Beckett, low blow."

She shrugs, feigning a lack of concern, making a big deal of turning back to her paperwork. Almost unconsciously, he leans in. He can scent faintest hint of cherries in the air, and his eyes are drawn to the long, lean lines of her neck, the way her hair swishes around to th-

He catches himself and leans back. This isn't right, not for them, not anymore. They're both seeing people. Other people.

He's happy with Gina, he really is.

He needs a distraction.

"What are you working on?"

"Prepping for a trial, actually."

"Oh yeah? One of our cases?"

"No, one from the summer."

She nods distractedly, tapping the pen against the police report lying on her desk. He glances over it, but cramped and in arcane police classification, he can't find any information on it.

The summer. Another topic best avoided.

"What was the case?"

"Brad O'Leary. Boston-Irish ex-Marine, two GSWs to the chest. Found in an alleyway by a bread delivery van in the morning."

"Leads?"

"I talked to his girlfriend. He'd been distant. Ryan and Espo found some weird payments in his financials. We finally figured out that he was illegally selling military surplus, and was double-crossed by his partner in the deal- his ex-Marine buddy Vinnie Marchisio."

"Confession?"

"No, but we have Marchisio nailed on forensics and his alibi fell apart once we got onto him."

He works his hands thoughtfully, putting the pieces together in his head. This is the unglamorous side of police work, the bit he always skips, but in reality it's important. A vital part of her day, and of the process to ensure the criminals they catch are actually put away behind bars.

"Going over your report?"

"Thought you hated the paperwork?"

"Doesn't mean it's not important."

She quirks an eyebrow, but nods slowly in agreement.

"Yeah. I'm meeting with the ADA this afternoon. She's going to outline her trial strategy and go over the evidence and case with me."

"Great, great. Sounds like an interesting case, sorry I missed…"

The words trail off, the silence between them growing heavy and awkward once again. They might have resumed their partnership, their friendship, but their recent past lies in between them like a pall, a heavy weather system that refuses to leave their ecology.

He wonders if they'll ever get past it.

"Anyway, I should probably get back to it. You can go bother Ryan or Espo or something, Castle." She smiles up at him genuinely, gratefully, dispelling the cloud momentarily. "Thanks for the coffee."

"Sure, any time. See you later."

He says a quick hi-and-goodbye to the boys, taking some time down in the range, keeping their shooting skills sharp (and having a friendly wager in the process), and Montgomery pins him down for a poker game later in the week, which he quickly agree to. Judge Markowitz had won some money off him a fortnight ago, time to go win it back.

In short it's the kind of quick visit to the precinct that he doesn't get to make often, but loves it when he does. The bustle has a familiar feeling to it, almost like home. The rhythm, the noise, the sense of important work being done and yet fun being had all at the same time- it quickens his pulse, makes him excited about getting up in the morning and heading to the crime scene (if not doing any of the paperwork that comes afterwards).

The quiet sense of justice he feels whenever they put away another murderer is starting to grow on him too.

It's only been a couple of months, but he can't imagine how thought he'd stay away from the place forever when he was away for the summer.

It's become a little easier to be around her, too. Yes, there was a pang of jealousy when Josh-the-heart-surgeon appeared on the scene, but he quickly suppressed that. It wasn't like with Demming before, made much easier by the fact that he was rarely at the precinct itself, and also by the fact he knew for certain she didn't want him.

She'd made that clear.

Sometimes he wondered when she'd broken up with Demming (surely she'd dumped him, because what idiot would break up with her). And when she'd met Dr. Motorcycle Boy. In his darker moments, he wondered what he'd done wrong that she'd chosen those two instead of him. Why he'd read all the signs wrong, when despite herself, he'd thought she might have felt something for him too, and then had all that hope blown away when she'd rejected him time and again, both in subtext and in text. Clearly he was a risk she wasn't going to take.

Then he reminds himself that he was with a wonderful, intelligent, warm girlfriend of his own (who just happened to be his publisher and second ex-wife, no need to dwell on that part), and that there was no need to go down that route over and over again, kicking himself. They'd missed their chance, for whatever reason, and it was best to come to terms with that. Accept their friendship, their partnership at work, and move on. He could just channel any leftover feelings into Nikki and Rook.

The sunny, cool fall day in New York begs him to stay outside, to steer his path through his city's streets, to stop for a bagel, to listen in on strangers' conversations, and beat the concrete sidewalks with the leathery soles of his shoes. His listens to that instinct, that writer's instinct, and lets his thoughts wander over the next scene he has to write, the next chapter he has to plot out. It has to do with the setup for the plot, where Nikki comes to a crime scene to find Rook standing over the body. He'd had a more prosaic set up, but their first meeting after the summer had almost demanded a fictional counterpart.

He hoped she'd find it funny when she read it. He hoped she'd understand it for the apology it was, too.

He tries not to wonder what Gina makes of it when she reads the books, reads the chapters. She gets them after they've been edited, gives him practiced, publishing feedback (tighten this, skip that), but never comments on the symbolism, imagery, the subtext of his relationship with Beckett, how that plays out on the page between their fictional alter-egos. He struggles with it himself sometimes, the meta-ness of it all, the vibrant picture he paints on the page and the person he works with every day, whose cherry scent still occasionally haunts him. The one who handed him a cup of coffee and held his hand as he shook through the aftermath of being held at gunpoint by a serial killer, an experience he's never going to share with Gina.

Beckett is always going to know him like one else could. They've already shared too much, too much honesty and too many experiences, for it to be any other way. And he knows, somehow, that they'll share more, that their story isn't yet over. Though he doesn't know what the ending is going to be like, and all he can hope for is that it is a happy one. For whatever value of happiness they settle on between them.

He'd take the friendship of this flawed, bright, enchanting woman. If they could only have part of each other, then they'll take that part of it and run with it, he knows.

They were spinning out something new now, something past uneasiness and the scars she'd left on him at the start of the summer, something past the hurt she'd obviously felt when he hadn't called in when he'd come back. Something fragile and delicate and made of glass, prone to breaking if pressed too hard, if dropped at the wrong time, if they put on a foot wrong. But something new and old all the same. Something worth persevering with.

The universe has spoken, and the universe is worth listening to.

* * *

_A/N: Doing a rewatch of the series during hiatus, and wanted to tackle C/B's relationship from Castle's viewpoint during what I feel is the most tumultous, fraught seasons (and my least favourite), sort of as a challenge to myself. Not sure I completely agree with the characterisation I've sketched out here, but it is what it is. Let me know what you thought. Thanks for reading. _


End file.
